Shifting Sands
by Mighty ANT
Summary: In the three centuries that Jack Frost had lived and breathed in Burgess, the Sandman had only made two personal visits. Oneshot /Spoiler Warning/


_**Shifting Sands**_

_**A/N**: Saw the movie for a second time on Sunday- it was just as amazing as the first time, and it gave me some ideas. I hope you enjoy! (And yes Sandman is my favorite. He's the most adorable thing on the planet and no one can tell me otherwise. I'll probably write a lot more about him in the future) _

_**THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS, for those who have yet to see the film. **_

_And apologies, I couldn't find Jack's sister's name. _

_Rise of the Guardians belongs to DreamWorks _

* * *

"_Jackson, you'll catch your death of cold out there! Put some shoes on!"_

_The teen laughed, an impish grin on his face as he danced out of his mother's reach, his younger sister clinging to his arm in giddy abandon. _

"_I'll be _fine_, Mother," Jack assured her, already halfway out the door with his sibling tightly clamped to his side and ice skates slung over both their shoulders. "Winter's nearly over, don't worry."_

_00000_

In the three centuries that Jack Frost had lived and breathed in Burgess, the Sandman had only made two personal visits.

Now Jack understood why—the diminutive man had quite the busy schedule, and could only be in one city or town each night, even if his powers extended to all corners of the Earth. Each night he was on a different continent, giving particularly strong dreams to the children of whatever region he was in. Though in those three hundred years, Sandman had done his best to give Jack Frost a dream— a memory, or a fantasy even— and it had never worked. Not once.

Their first meeting had been in 1837— Jack had been seeing the sand visions above the heads of the local children while they slept for years, never truly comprehending what they were or what their purpose was, only knowing that they did no harm. Jack often wondered if he had these same images dancing above him, not that sleep ever found him easily. He had been creeping into the bedrooms of the children for some time, however, to better observe these swirling, shifting golden images, and to learn more of the children themselves, so when he _was_ seen and believed in, he would be able to easily relate with them. Or so he told himself.

In truth, Jack was simply curious.

It was mid-winter, and Jack had found himself a place to rest in the early hours of the night— a fork in a tree that supported his back and allowed him to overlook most of the homes of the children who he most spent time with, the windows all dark and the streets silent.

All was quiet.

Timing it just right, Jack looked up in time to see the long, serpentine tendrils of glowing golden sand descend from the heavens, flowing soundlessly into the bedrooms of the children. He would have normally followed them, but that night Jack was content in simply watching them light up the sky.

For perhaps the umpteenth time sleep seemed to allude him, though he appeased himself by closing his eyes and twirling his staff in his hands.

Seeing the glow of the sand through his closed eyelids, he humored himself for a few moments —playing a make-believe game that resurfaced whenever he felt most down—and envisioned himself in one of the houses below him, surrounded by a family as they sat down for a lavish Christmas dinner, or told stories around a crackling hearth. He saw his make-believe mother's face, soft and kind, and she would tend to him when ill and nag him about marriage.

There would be a father as well, taller than he and rugged, a strong, family man who would pick up Jack's make-believe siblings and spin them around the room when he returned from work. This father would teach him how to hunt and protect his family, and he would be warm, and safe, and believed in.

Before Jack could imagine what his siblings would be like, he was jerked from his wonderful daydream by the unfamiliar, prickling sensation of being watched.

Eyes snapping open, Jack reacted before truly understanding what had startled him so.

His staff was firm beneath his palms in an instant, and he fired once, blindly, at whatever had woken him. His shot missed, freezing the side of a house instead, and huffing, Jack carefully collected himself.

There was nothing below or around him that he could see, though his grip did not loosen on the crook just yet. He swallowed once and called out, his voice cutting through the chilled night air like a gunshot.

"Hello?! Is anyone there…?"

There was a soft shifting of leaves behind him, not caused by the wind, and Jack whirled around, his staff at the ready, only to come face to face with… a man. Though this was like no man Jack had ever seen before.

He was small and round, almost comically so, with wispy, golden hair and an outfit to match, and everything about him just seemed to glitter softly in gold, even in the dark. He had his hands raised in front of him, expression alarmed, and Jack suddenly realized that he still had the end of his staff in the short man's face.

"Oh…sorry," Jack said slowly, lowering his staff, when the sudden sense of realization nearly bowled him over. "W-wait…can you…can you see me?"

The stranger appeared confused, his head cocking slightly to the side, but he nodded wordlessly. He moved his hands slightly and above his head, like the visions of the children, formed a sand-made image of the boy. The golden man pointed to the image and then to Jack Frost himself.

Jack gripped the branch beneath him tensely, more white-knuckled than usual, and managed to choke, "Y-you're the one who makes the sand visions for the children?"

The being blinked, looking perplexed again, but he nodded. Another swift movement of his hands and a tiny firework went off above his head, the cascading sand forming a man.

"The…Sandman?" Jack hedged, and the man nodded brightly, clapping his hands. Jack rubbed his jaw before asking, "And that…sand, what does it do?"

Sandman clasped his hands and placed them beneath his head, as if in sleep, and this time the sand above his head formed a thought bubble, and within it the sand writhed senselessly, forming random images before dissipating again. Once he had finished he looked up at the teenager expectantly.

"You create dreams?" Jack said, and Sandman beamed, bobbing his head. Beneath his fingers a replica of the world was formed, and with a small finger he tracked his passage all over the globe with the same cheerful smile. He paused over Burgess, tapped it once, before looking back up at Jack with somber golden eyes. He gestured slightly toward the boy, then back to the globe, and he half-shrugged in an almost remorseful way. With a start Jack realized that Sandman was apologizing for not knowing about his existence (and loneliness).

"Hey, i-it's fine," Jack quickly reassured, still dazed. He had not spoken to someone who could answer (sort of) since…ever, and the action still stunned him. Sandman smiled at the acceptance of his apology, and the globe faded out of existence. He floated slightly, without the aid of any wind, Jack noticed, and formed a clock in midair, motioning toward it a "what can you do?" way.

The silver-haired teen nodded, bowing his head slightly. "Oh, yeah, you've got a job to do, I...uh, I understand." Sandman grinned once more, though this time the smile seemed softer, smaller, and he rose a bit higher, tapping Jack's forehead with a finger, nodding at the same time. Instantly, Jack felt a wave of exhaustion overtake him, and he leaned back against the thick tree branch with a sigh as his eyelids became wonderfully heavy.

"Thanks, Sandy," he managed to mumble, and caught the man's grin amidst his dimming gaze. Sandman stepped off of the branch, and a small cloud of sand formed beneath his feet, rising toward the heavens. All of a sudden, the raw terror of abandonment tore at Jack's chest and he forced himself to sit up, shouting, "Wait! Sandman!"

Sandman paused, glancing back down at the imp with a lifted golden eyebrow. Jack swallowed thickly. "Are…are there more…like us, I mean?"

Sandman smiled wider than he had all night, and all around Jack formed the flickering, swiftly changing images of _dozens_ of others beings, ranging drastically from species to appearances. He returned the Sandman's beam.

"Thank you," he said again, resting against the tree as the forms encircling him disappeared, and Sandman drifted back up to the clouds. Jack closed his eyes and fell asleep within minutes, though he did not dream.

00000

"_I would say sweet dreams…but there aren't any left."_

_Jack's scream was lodged in his throat. He had seen the arrow— blacker than the night sky around them— and had seen where it had been embedded. He could not, _would not_, believe it. Not Sandman, the first being to see him, the first living thing he had ever communicated with… _

_He was racing against the clock. But he took off anyway, knowing it was pointless, that no one could ward off fear forever. And Jack was terrified. How did the Sandman feel?_

_No matter how fast he traveled, or how much wind propelled him, Jack was not fast enough. The speck of gold that was Sandman's cloud was flickering, blackness seeping in, and he could no longer see the small man. _

_And then it was done. The golden speck was swallowed by the darkness. Sandman was gone. He heard Pitch's laughter, and a wave of nightmares rose up to meet Jack, who was floating brokenly as the final vestiges of gold were snuffed out. His chest burned and his vision had gone red, and he let out a furious battle cry as the horde attacked. _

_Sandman was gone, dead and gone, consumed by nightmares…_

_But before Jack could meet the surge of nightmares, the scene changed. _

_Jack was watching a swirling, golden vortex form above the snow, so bright that it smothered Pitch's darkness. He dared not hope. But then, emerging from the sand, whole and alive, was the Sandman. _

_00000_

Jack awoke piecemeal, blinking groggily and rubbing at his tired eyes. He sat up in his tree, glancing down through the window of the home below him to see Jamie tucked into bed, dreamsand floating about his head.

The teenager was quiet for a few moments, before glancing at the small, golden man sitting beside him, innocently twiddling his thumbs as he looked up at the snow steadily falling from the thick clouds above them.

"You didn't have to do that," Jack said eventually, allowing his legs to swing over the side of the thick branch. Sandman shrugged absently, kicking his tiny legs over the empty space below them.

Jack released a breath in a small huff, although there was no real exasperation to the gesture, and he caught Sandman's faint smirk. As the Guardian of Dreams continued to study the opaque sky, he a blot of glittering gold against the bleakness of night, Jack took a moment to appreciate his existence. Not even seven months ago they had lost him to such darkness, and every moment he and the others saw him was a blatant reminder of it.

Sandman yawned suddenly, and Jack had to stifle his chuckle. The elder being regarded him with a sheepish expression before returning his attention heavenward. Sandman spent a large amount of time watching the sky now, he and the other Guardians had noticed. As if he expected a mass of Fearlings to suddenly materialize from below the horizon.

Yet another reason he had changed Jack's nightmare into a dream so swiftly.

Jack's rubbed his pale hands together; his own gaze focused on Jamie's slumbering form through the window pane, a lump forming in his throat when he realized what he had wanted to ask. He swallowed.

"What was it like to die?"

Silence greeted Jack's words, and he would not look his friend in the eye — refusing to look away from his first-believer.

He inhaled sharply, trying to hide how unnerved he was by Sandman's noiselessness. His grip on his staff tightened. "I mean… I know that's probably a sore subject, and I shouldn't have brought it up, but…" Jack closed his eyes, knowing he would soon begin rambling. "I…I don't….I don't really remember how…how I died. What it felt like, I mean, but you don't have to explain, I mean, it must have been—,"

Jack was quieted by small hand on the back of his own, and while it was warm, he could feel it trembling. The Guardian of Fun risked a glance upward into Sandman's gold eyes, and found them filled with sorrow and sympathy. Sandman pulled his hand back, folding both of them in his lap, and for a time he appeared to be deliberating Jack's question.

Eventually, he rubbed both of his arms and shivered, speaking without the aid of his sand.

"It was…cold?" Jack murmured, and Sandman nodded. He covered his eyes next. "And dark?" the boy guessed, and Sandman uncovered his eyes in order to give him a look that very clearly said "_obviously_". Jack managed a chuckle.

"Right, I get it," Jack said, "You don't want to talk about it."

Sandman shook his head, expression troubled, but his features soon smoothed before Jack could fully register the change in demeanor. He motioned toward the boy.

"What…what about _me_?" Jack queried, blinking, and Sandman nodded. "Well…pretty much the same thing," he said with a small exhale, rubbing the back of his neck. Jamie drew his attention again before Sandman tugged on his sleeve.

The smaller being finally used his sand, forming the moon above his head, and pointed to Jack again. The boy nodded. "Yeah, I saw the Man in the Moon."

Sandman gestured toward himself, smiling that same somber smile he had the first night they met, as if to say "me too".

0000000

_It was always cold. _

_Beneath the snow and ice, in the frigid water, Jack had only known cold in the few seconds of his existence. That, and an emptiness like no other. _

_It was dark too. Everything around and above him. And he was weightless—suffocating in that infinite blackness— when all of a sudden, there was light, protecting him, guiding him to the surface. _

_Above him, glistening through the ice was the moon. _


End file.
